


Open Up and Let Me In

by Fenix21



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Blow Jobs, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season 3, Wincest - Freeform, bottom!Dean, porn with angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 15:25:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7763086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fenix21/pseuds/Fenix21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>The news had been a shock. Well, not really. Maybe a little, on the surface of things. Deeper down, it had just been a settling home and rolling over in its lazy sleep of something big and heavy and unspoken that had always existed between them. That may have been the real shocker—the fact that he really wasn't all that shocked. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Sam makes his move and Dean takes a moment to consider accepting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open Up and Let Me In

**Author's Note:**

> So I got this flash of Dean fingering himself in the bathroom in front of the mirror and probably got turned on WAY more than I should, and so. This was supposed to be nothing but porn, and short at that, but as you can see it kind of ran away with itself. We're still missing anything resembling a plot, but there did turn out to be quiet a bit of angst.

Dean shut the bathroom door, quietly, easing the latch into place like he would have if John were out in the room and still sleeping off a bender, or Sam were sick or injured from a hunt, except that no one was there. Sam had gone on a food run, actually more of a mercy run, because it was that or Dean ran, and if Dean ran, he wasn't likely coming back and Sam knew it. He flipped the lock. They never flipped the lock. For safety reasons, they never flipped the lock, but Dean needed to know that Sam was not coming through that door when he got back until Dean was good and ready to let him. 

The news had been a shock. Well, not really. Maybe a little, on the surface of things. Deeper down, it had just been a settling home and rolling over in its lazy sleep of something big and heavy and unspoken that had always existed between them. _That_ may have been the real shocker—the fact that he really wasn't all that shocked. 

He leaned heavily on the sink, fingers clinging and locked on the slick porcelain. They were shaking, so were his arms, and the rest of him, too. His knees felt wobbly and weak, like after a near brush with death in a graveyard when his salt gun was too far out of reach; or like when Sam looked at him with his eyes all open and hurting, needy and wanting, lips parted just a little on the breath that was coming too fast, sped along by the slamming of his heart against his ribs. Yeah, that was the look that had sent Dean in here behind a locked door. That and the idea that he couldn't one hundred percent deny that he wanted what Sam was asking. 

He looked up into the mirror. He was pale and sweaty, gasping a little, bare chest flushed in counterpoint to his pallor, and that had to mean something he supposed, had to be a tell, or confirmation, or some subconscious, prophetic acceptance. He swore softly and looked down at himself briefly, jeans unsnapped and loose at his hips, unfathomably half-hard cock pressed up against the back of the zipper, abs pulled taut under the stress of the last few minutes and Sammy’s confession, elbows locked as he held onto the sink for dear life. Then he glanced around the bathroom, took in the heap of damp towels in the floor, his shave kit on the back of the toilet, Sam’s amassed collection of mini soaps, conditioners, and lotions from some of the nicer places they'd stayed, arrayed on the back of the sink. It was all inconsequential, but letting his mind get stuck on all the little details—the crack in the wall to the left of the shower, the way the silver had been scratched off the back of the mirror in the top right corner somehow—helped him not get so mired in the massive turn of events here that he passed right out from shock. 

He pried one hand loose and pulled it down his face. It came away clammy and damp. ‘Holy fuck,’ he muttered, and weren't those just the perfect choice words since this whole thing was about Sam wanting to do just that: fuck him. He hadn't said it like that, of course. In fact, he hadn't out and out said anything about the _physical_ , but everything he _did_ say had alluded to it, and there had been the kiss, too. That counted as physical. 

Dean had stonewalled Sam for two hundred miles, feeling pretty sure he knew where the conversation was heading, at least the part of it that Sam was having with himself in the shotgun seat, because Dean just shut up and didn't say anything at all. He'd gotten the room and unloaded the car like Sam had been briefing him about a new prospective hunt instead of spilling his guts in fits and starts about how he'd been in love with his big brother for about as long as he could remember. 

‘I love you, too, dude,’ Dean had finally said. ‘Now, stop being a chick and help me with these bags.’

‘No! Fuck, Dean…would you _listen_ to what I'm saying? I am in _love_ with you,’ Sam had said, enunciating the last words carefully like Dean was a three year old, and then he'd punctuated it with a kiss. 

It was a rough thing, sloppy, too much teeth and not on target, but Dean gave him points for passion, and staying the course, because it was no little peck to test the waters either. There was definitely tongue, and Dean had found out up close and personal what those sugary coffee confections Sam so loved tasted like. Not half bad, he was willing to admit. 

He gripped the sink again, and his eyes dropped down to his crotch. He'd gotten harder, replaying that kiss in his mind, the way Sam had slid his hands along Dean’s jaw, fingers curled and digging a little at the base of his skull to hold him if he tried to escape, his off-center aim landing the kiss a little high and to the right, teeth scraping against Dean’s upper lip and tongue pushing into his mouth without an ounce of finesse. If he could have collected any brain cells to rub together, he would have cracked a joke about Sam’s kissing technique and why he could never get laid. 

Instead, he'd stood in the middle of the floor, staring at Sam until the kid had stumbled backward, eyes taking on a cast of horror struck guilt, and mumbled something about getting them food, then he'd come in here, where he was standing now, staring at his own reflection and tenuously considering what Sam had on offer. 

It wasn't like he hadn't had a few dirty thoughts of his own. There was a stretch of months when Sam was just shy of sixteen, and he was really starting to grow into his body, catching up to Dean in height inside of a year, all his puppy fat melting away like the wax off a mold and leaving behind this beautiful… _thing_ , sculpted in lean muscle and bone and sinew, clothed in tanned, golden skin. Every time Sam stretched to reveal a swath of abs, dusted ever so lightly in fine, soft hairs, or the hollow of the small of his back that Dean had somehow become obsessed with, Dean wanted nothing more than to spread his palms against that hot, soft skin and pull his little brother in and rock him between his thighs. 

Yeah. There was that. 

But Dean had grown out of it, or he thought he had. Sam had lost his sweetness with his puppy fat and gained a hard, sharp edge that was so much like John it made Dean cringe because he knew that was exactly what caused the growing number of fights between father and son—it was that they were too much alike. Dean’s desire became overrun by his frustration and anger at his baby brother over the kid’s inability to be anything but obstinate and caustic and cynical about everything in their lives; and that had given way to hurt and self-doubt when Sam had up and disappeared into the night, running for Stanford and normal and safe. 

It seemed, though, siting his body’s current physical reaction, that he may not have outgrown those feelings so much as just shoved them away in Sam’s absence because so far as Dean knew, they would never come to anything, because Sam was never coming back. 

Only he _was_ back now, and he wanted Dean. 

He glanced at his watch. Sam had been gone ten minutes. He'd probably be gone at least another ten, and that was plenty of time, because even if he didn't accomplish anything else, he had to get rid of this hard on. He knew Sam wasn't going to let this go, and Dean could not concentrate on pointing out to his brother how this whole thing was so wrong and such a bad idea when his own cock was clearly indicating the exact opposite. He made a quick pick from the little bottles on the sink and jerked his zipper down, taking himself firmly in hand, and staring himself down in the mirror. He refused to close his eyes, too afraid at the moment of where his imagination might take him. 

He gave himself a few quick, hard strokes, bit his lip against a groan of frustration as his need only torqued higher and tighter. He slipped his hand further down, between his legs, fondled his balls, gave them a light squeeze, and stroked himself a couple more times. His dick throbbed and twitched, but it wasn't enough, left him sitting just on the edge and unable to get hold of that much needed release. Maybe if… 

He shoved his jeans down, kicked them to the side, and propped a foot on the edge of the tub. His dick curved out in front of him, hard and heavy. He took a deep breath and stared down into the blank white of the sink, because he couldn't look himself in the eye and do this, and reached down and… The first brush of his fingertip against his hole was a shivery shock that made his skin tighten and crawl across his shoulders. He pulled back right away but paused at the heavy warmth that pooled low in his belly and made his dick twitch and leak a tiny bead of pre-come. He sucked in another breath, held it, and pressed back more firmly this time, feeling the tightness of that furled muscle, feeling it spasm a little against the pad of his finger, wanting to open up and take him in. He pulled back again, shaking like he'd just come down from a three day high, gasping a little. He felt sweat bead and slide down the trough of his spine, but despite his shaky uncertainty, a thin trickle of come was dripping on the edge of the sink. 

‘Jesus…’ he gasped, and this time he pushed the slick tip of his finger up inside himself and felt his breath lodge in his throat as he hunched at the sudden, sharp shock of pleasure that skated like acid along his nerve endings. 

‘Shit!’ 

He groaned and pushed the single digit a fraction of an inch deeper, feeling that second ring give way. Another jolt of pleasure flooded his veins and left him nearly doubled over the sink, clinging to the edge to stay standing. He huffed a breath, secured his footing, and pushed the finger deeper. His muscles clenched, grabbing at the invading digit, but like they wanted to pull it in deeper instead of expel it. He tried to push deeper, but his knuckle was dry and caught skin against skin. He yanked his hand out, squeezed a liberal daub of lotion on his finger and plunged it back inside himself, up to the second knuckle this time. 

‘Oh my god…’ he gasped and his toes curled against the cracked tile. His cock was leaking steadily now, leaving thin stripes of come all over the edge of the sink, and he felt like he had a hot coal burning behind his belly button, spreading heat out and out and lighting his whole body on fire. And that was just one finger. He blew out an unsteady breath and slowly started to move inside himself, feeling his own tight velvet heat against the sides of his finger, clenching and pulling. He caught himself moaning out a little ‘ahahah’ as he pushed his finger as deep as it would go and brushed against something that shot a flurry of little razor edge sparks through his groin and legs and up his spine. He tried to rub against it again but couldn't find the right spot and settled for just thrusting his finger in and out, speeding up a bit now, spreading his legs wider, and squatting down so he could reach that little bit deeper. 

‘Oh, Jesus, Sammy…’

The words escaped unbidden, but his dick jerked hard at the sound of his brother's name and blurted come, splashing it across the faucet this time. He gaped a little at the mess he was making, the way his dick was jumping, twitching, and leaking without even being touched. Holy God, what if he could…? Without even being touched? But he needed more. This was fine. Good. Hell it was great! But he needed more. He needed to feel…full. He reluctantly pulled his finger out and added more lotion, smeared it all along his index and middle fingers and then reached down and back, holding his breath as he breached himself with both at the same time. 

His knees very nearly gave out and he let out an involuntary, strangled cry as his hole stretched, burned a little, and then clenched around both fingers, eagerly pulling them in, squeezing down hard. He tipped his pelvis and pushed in as deep as he could, brushed that spot again and dropped over the sink, gasping as more white hot sparks showered through his blood. He started to move, driving his fingers in hard until his knuckles were sore and he could barely hold himself up right and he was hunched over the sink and moaning. 

_Dean…?_

‘Sammy…oh yeah, Sammy,’ Dean moaned, working his fingers harder, cock bumping against the front of the sink as he started rocking his hips with the motion of his fingers. ‘Oh, Sam…that’s it…’

‘Dean?’

Dean was so lost in the new sensation of his own fingers pumping in and out of his ass that he was oblivious to the snick of Sam’s lock picks in the door behind him, and had no idea that the voice he was answering was not just in his head until the door swung open on its squeaky hinges, and he looked up into the mirror to see Sam standing dumbstruck behind him. The kid’s cheeks were pink with embarrassment, but it only took seconds for the fire to reach his eyes, and his head dipped low, and he looked back at Dean through his lashes and shaggy bangs, and his tongue slipped out to lick along his bottom lip. 

Dean was too far gone to be anything more than momentarily startled. He stared at Sam in the mirror for a handful of seconds, gasping for breath, too close and riding too high to hold still, no matter that his baby brother was standing in the door watching him finger fuck himself, and he started to move again, fingers working slow to reset the rhythm, hips following a minute later until he was groaning in need again, daring Sam with his eyes in the mirror to do anything about it. 

And Sam did. 

Sam was across the tiny space and had his hand on Dean’s hip and his other slipping a long finger up along side Dean’s into his hole, stretching him more. 

‘Jesus-fucking-Christ!’ Dean nearly yelled, tipping his head back and choking on a breath as Sam matched his thrusting and urged it faster. 

Sam buried his face at Dean’s neck, licking and biting, panting beneath his ear. ‘So hot, Dean. _Jesus_ , you're so hot! I need to, Dean. Please! God I need to fuck you…’

‘Yes,’ Dean rasped. ‘Jesus, yes. Yes!’

Sam worked his belt and button and zipper with one hand, shoving his jeans down around his hips without interrupting the in and out of his and Dean’s fingers in Dean’s ass, then he withdrew to Dean’s prolonged, piteous whimper that Sam turned his head and kissed away thoroughly, murmuring into his mouth,

‘Shhh. Shh…gonna fill you up, Dean. God…gonna fill you so full.’

Sam snagged the little bottle of lotion Dean had already made good use of and emptied the remainder into this palm and slicked himself up. ‘It’s big, Dean,’ Sam warned softly. ‘’S gonna hurt at first, but I just need you to relax.’

If Dean had been even a little bit coherent, he would have taken full advantage of a range of jokes about Sam warning his brother about the size of his cock, and if he could remember later, he still might, but the only thing he could do now was hold his breath in anticipation as he felt the first push of Sam’s blunt heat against his hole. Sam settled his hands on Dean’s hips and held him hard. Dean gripped the sides of the sink again. 

Sam pushed in, steady and slow, and Dean cried out as he felt himself breached, stretching far beyond what his two fingers and Sam’s one had done. He tensed and almost pulled away, but his body was clenching hard, stomach muscles drawing so tight that his back bowed. He gasped and arched up and heard Sam groan loudly behind him as he pushed in another inch. 

‘Shit, Sam, I can’t—!’

Sam’s hands were suddenly at his lower back, soothing across his flanks, over his hips, down the curve of his ass. They were huge and warm and distracted Dean momentarily from the pain as Sam pushed further into him. Sam leaned in to breathe over the curve of his ear. 

‘Never seen anything so gorgeous, Dean,’ he said. ‘So hot…. You opening yourself up like that.’ Sam shifted his stance, widened it, and pulled Dean back against him. Dean felt himself slide down the remaining length of Sam’s cock, gravity working with him. ‘I could come just like this, Dean, deep inside of you. Never move a muscle. Blow my load and fill you up…’

Dean panted, grappled with the edges of the sink, hands too sweat-slick to hang on. He groaned out Sam’s name and rocked back against him, felt Sam throb inside of him, and his muscles clenched of their own volition, squeezing down. 

‘Shit…Dean, I….’

Dean felt a sudden stretch in his ass and then a wash of heat through his insides as Sam came, cursing and groaning, biting into Dean’s shoulder, and Dean followed right behind him, hips jerking as he came harder than he had in years, splashing the sink and mirror and tile underneath with his come. Sam held him up with an arm under his ribs, and it was a good thing or he probably would have collapsed. He let Sam pull him back until they bumped into the wall, and Sam settled him between his thighs and wrapped his other arm around Dean’s shoulders. They leaned there like that for several minutes, getting their breath back. 

‘You gonna freak out now?’ Sam asked cautiously. 

Dean didn't answer right away, and Sam’s arms tightened around him. He reached up and patted the tense, corded muscle of Sam’s forearm. ‘Yeah, absolutely.’ 

Sam bit back a tiny whimper and started to pull away. Dean pushed back against him, rolled his hips and squeezed his muscles around Sam’s flaccid cock still buried deep inside him. Sam huffed a heavy, slightly surprised breath near Dean’s ear. Dean let his head fall back against Sam’s shoulder and smirked tiredly,

‘But I think it can wait a few hundred years until this stops feeling so goddamn good.’

Sam dropped his face into the curve of Dean’s neck and said nothing, but Dean could feel him trembling, breath coming ragged and jerky. 

‘Dude. I find out you cry after sex,’ Dean said, ‘and all bets are off.’

Sam smiled broadly against Dean’s shoulder but still remained quiet. 

‘Okay, you're gonna have to say something, Sam, or yeah, I'm gonna start freakin’ out,’ Dean pressed, starting to feel a little bundle of nerves writhe in his guts, like maybe Sam had only _thought_ he wanted this, but now that he had it he could see how wrong it was. 

‘Didn't figure you were a talker,’ Sam said, and there was definitely a smirk in his voice. 

‘’M not,’ Dean grumbled. ‘I don't cuddle either, just so you know.’

‘Yeah, of course,’ Sam agreed, but his arms wound tighter around Dean, and Dean didn't exactly try and pull away when Sam pressed them closer together, if that was even possible, and rocked his hips in a slow, languid move. 

They cleaned up, and Dean pulled his jeans back on, but forwent the snap and didn't bother with a shirt. When he came out of the bathroom, Sam had the food laid out and Dean grabbed his burger and sat down on one of the beds. Sam hesitated a minute and came to sit down beside him. They ate in silence.

'So…what spawned that?' Sam asked, popping one of his last fries into his mouth and keeping his eyes carefully trained on the floor between his feet. He felt Dean shrug beside him.

'Practice?'

Sam didn't need to look to see the smirk on Dean's face. He nodded, not smiling. 'And you're really not going to freak out about this?'

Dean sighed in frustration and balled up his burger wrapper, tossing it effortlessly into the trashcan across the room. 'I suppose at some point, maybe, yeah?' He leaned back on his hands, unintentionally putting himself on display and didn't miss the tiny whine Sam tried to swallow back. He reached a hand to tangle in the hair at the back of Sam's head and gave a little tug. 'Thought you'd be proud, me not runnin' and burying my head in the sand.'

'Yeah, I…yeah.' Sam dropped the rest of his fries into the bag at his feet and turned toward his brother, reaching a hand out but stopping before he touched. His eyes skittered up to Dean's. 'It's okay, Sammy,' Dean said, and Sam flattened his palm against Dean's stomach, spread his fingers wide, like he was testing to see how much of his brother's torso he could span with just one hand. His lips parted and his tongue flicked out, leaving his lower lip pink and wet. 

Dean caught himself holding his breath again, and he could feel the flush creeping up across his abs and chest and across his shoulders. 'Jesus, Sam…' he murmured, because Sam's eyes were hot, molten gold, flaring with desire, but also with something Dean couldn't name, or maybe was afraid to. For a moment he looked fierce and wild, untamed, and Dean thought for a moment there might be nothing in the world that could stand in Sam's way when his eyes looked like that. Sam leaned in, and Dean watched in fascination as he latched onto a patch of skin just below and to the right of Dean's naval and sucked. He sucked at it until Dean could feel the blood coming to the surface and then he pressed his tongue flat against it, laving it like an animal would a wound, before he moved onto the next spot.

He worked his way over Dean's stomach and chest like that, sucking and laving, in a loose zigzag until he reached Dean's left nipple that was taut and pebble-hard with anticipation. Dean hadn't been paying attention to much except the shape of Sam's mouth as he latched onto Dean's skin again and again and the heat in his eyes when he glanced up from under his long lashes, but now he noticed the low level shiver that was taking over his entire body and the serious bulge in his jeans where his cock had fully recovered from earlier activities and fattened up under all this sensuous attention. He lifted his hips, getting a little friction from the denim, and breathed out harshly through his nose. Sam paused for a fraction of a second and then descended on Dean's nipple. 

'Oh, hell!' Dean tossed his head back and gasped for air. It wasn't like no one had ever teased his nipples before. Plenty of the women he'd been with over the years had expertly toyed with them, a few had even had the added bonus of hardware in their tongues, but something about the perfect, warm wetness of Sam's tongue flicking and pushing at the hardened pearl of skin sent Dean into orbit. He huffed a breath and let his arms out from behind him, sprawling onto the mattress. Sam followed him down, mouth never leaving Dean's skin. He flicked and nipped and swirled until Dean was panting again, and then moved over to the other nipple and repeated the whole play. 

'Sammy…' Dean rolled his hips against the bed, pushing up, trying to get a leg over Sam's and drag his weight down. Sam wouldn't budge, so Dean shoved his hand down the front of his jeans and squeezed his dick, stroking himself hard. Sam lifted away and above him, finally slinging a leg over and watching avidly as Dean worked his own cock.

'Jesus, Dean.' Sam settled back on Dean's thighs and spread both of his hands across Dean's flushed chest, twisting his nipples briefly between thumb and finger until Dean hissed in pain. He dragged his hands down Dean's stomach and fisted the waistband of his jeans and sat and stared for a moment. 'Wanna blow you, Dean. Please, can I? Wanna put my mouth on you…suck you down.'

'Mmmm,' Dean hummed deeply, squeezing the base of his cock to forestall the instant urge to come at Sam's panted words. Sam took that as an affirmative and jerked Dean's zipper down and pulled his hand away. He slid into the floor and pushed Dean's knees apart so he could settle between them, then he gripped denim and cotton and pulled them down enough that he could get free access to the long, hard, blood-fat cock laying across Dean's belly.

Dean had watched women go down on him many times over the course of his sexually active life since about the age of fifteen, and each and every one of them had been more than willing and grateful to do it; but seeing Sam stare with wide, worshipful eyes and lick his lips like a man starved and about to descend on his first meal in decades made Dean's breath catch hard in his chest so that it ached almost too bad to draw another. Fresh desire waved through him, making him hot and dizzy, and he folded one arm back behind his head so that he could watch as Sam smoothed his broad palms over Dean's thighs and wrapped them around his hipbones and tugged a little to get him closer, in easier reach. 

''S big, Sam,' Dean said. 'It's gonna hurt at first, but you just need to relax.'

The joke was not lost on Sam and he smiled devilishly through his tangled bangs.

Most women approached their first blow job in small licks and sucks and had to work up to actually taking Dean, who wasn't particularly bragging when he said it was big, fully into their mouths and going down on him. Given Sam's complete lack of experience, or so Dean assumed, he figured he was in for an exploratory session of cautious tonguing and suckling and then he might actually get Sam to swallow him at least part way down. 

He was wrong.

Sam gripped Dean's heavy, swollen cock in one hand and kept the other on his hip, not particularly holding him down but more like steadying him, and then he simply wrapped his lips around Dean's head and swallowed him whole, getting his hand out of the way and moving it to knead and squeeze at Dean's balls so that he could suck him all the way down to the base. Dean shouted some unintelligible profanity and his shoulders came up off the bed as Sam swallowed and sucked and worked his tongue hard and slow against the fat vein on the underside of Dean's cock. He felt Sam's throat contract and squeeze around the head of his cock and watched wide eyed as Sam worked his mouth up and down over a few inches of his length, lips stretched and wet, tears sitting on the edges of his lashes with the effort, and Dean knew he should stop him, make him pull off, but it felt so damn could he couldn't find any words, could only lay there watching and moaning and making obscene little whimpering sounds that he would never admit to later.

Sam pulled up a little and replaced his hand and stroked expertly in time with the movements of his mouth and tongue, and Dean felt himself twitch and jerk and leak, and Sam hummed in appreciation at the first real taste of Dean on his tongue. That set Dean off like nothing ever had before, and his hips punched upward, trying to drive deeper into Sam's throat. Sam held him with one strong hand, but obliged him by sinking low again and sucking hard, tongue doing things that Dean had never felt before and had no idea how Sam could ever have learned, until Dean was sweating and writhing and almost crying with his need to come. He grappled for Sam's head, trying to get a hand in his hair, to make him pull off.

'Sam, you need… Gonna come, man…' Dean rasped, body bucking with the heat coiling low in his belly, thrashing to break free and drown him in ecstasy. 

Sam hummed again, grinning somehow around his mouthful of Dean's cock, and pushed lower, swallowing so that his throat closed around Dean's head at the moment he blew his load with a harsh, strangled cry.

'Sammy!'

Dean collapsed on the bed, limp and spent and sweat soaked. He stared down at Sam, who still held Dean's cock carefully in his mouth, nursing at the head softly to help bring Dean back down, in total disbelief and awe. Sam pulled off slow, licking Dean clean as he went, swallowing every drop of come, and then licking it off his lips before he crawled up over Dean and hung there looking at him.

'Sam, you need…?' Dean asked. Sam shook his head and glanced down. Dean followed his gaze and saw the dark, wet spot spread across the front of Sam's jeans. 'Oh.'

Sam smiled and bent to kiss Dean slow and soft, and Dean surprised himself by not jerking away, not being grossed out by the taste and smell of himself in Sam's mouth. He opened easily and let Sam lick into him deeply and hum in approval. 

'You taste amazing,' Sam whispered into the kiss. 'You _look_ amazing. Didn't even have to touch myself.' Dean blushed, but couldn't look away, and Sam smiled bigger. 'You are so wild when you come, Dean. So raw and naked, and everything's just out there for me to see, and I love it. Love it so much.' He kissed Dean again and then drew back far enough to look him in the eye. 'Love _you._ '

Dean swallowed hard at the sudden painful swelling behind his breastbone because the look in Sam's eye, that one that said he had everything he could ever want? That look was going to cost them both more than Dean could afford. But there was no stopping it now, just like there was no stopping the clock on Dean's going to Hell, no matter how sure Sam was that he would be able to find a way out of it. 

He knew he shouldn't say it. It was only going to make things a thousand times harder when his clock struck twelve and this pumpkin exploded into gorey, blood, hell-bound bits; but the damage was already done, so Dean reached up with both hands and framed Sam's face, looking at him solemnly for a long minute until he could find a smile, a real one, and dredge it to the surface—because this was good, what they had, and there was no point in wasting it even if they could only have it for a little while—and answered earnestly,

'I love you, too, Sammy.'


End file.
